


Tutelage

by SlayerSlayer (BittersweetParakeet)



Series: A Midwinter's Night Dream [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BittersweetParakeet/pseuds/SlayerSlayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is quite the studious pupil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutelage

The Eyrie’s library was extensive and excessively dusty. Sansa spent as much time wiping the dust off the tomes as she did reading them. But that did not bother her. For the first time in her life, she was reading with a purpose. Another lifetime ago, she had read for pleasure. Stories of gallant knights who saved princesses who were so pretty, it hurt to look at them. Silly fairytales for naïve little girls

Gone were those stories. Sansa poured over books on important subjects. Languages. Genealogy. Court intrigue. The tomes on swordplay and weaponry, she did not touch, but everything else, she devoured. She had never quite understood what had barred her from learning so much, or why she was stuffed with trivial knowledge as a child, but with no one but Littlefinger guiding her studies, she was free to study whatever she wanted.

 She was enveloped in a book about the Targaryen bloodline when she felt someone press against her back. Soft, strong hands clasped onto her shoulders. A shadow fell over the pages. Petyr.

“Father,” Sansa said quietly. Littlefinger hushed her gently.

“Alayne,” he replied in a whisper. He bent down close to her face. Sansa prayed that he did not notice the warm flush creeping over her cheeks.

“The Targaryens were an interesting bunch, weren’t they? Wedding brothers to sisters, nieces to uncles. I’m surprised that none of them wed parent to child.” He purred that last line, making Sansa stiffen her body in anticipating.

“I can teach you many things. You just have to let me,” he chuckled. His hands traveled down the length of her arms, resting gently at the crooks of her elbows.

Sansa closed the book with a snap and stood up. Littlefinger released her. She could just feel the smug, amused expression on his face.

“I think I will check on Robin now,” she announced. She felt his grip on her arms once more. He spun her around to face him.

“There’s no need. He’s asleep right now,” he countered. He leaned in, so close that their noses touched.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” His eyes, dark gray like steel, were unreadable. Sansa shook her head.

“How about now?” His hands went to her waist. She looked away from him.

“Please, my lord," she begged. She was trembling. Mentally, she cursed herself for being so weak. She barely had time to think when she felt lips latch themselves on her throat. He pressed closer, so close that she could feel the entirety of his body against hers. This was wrong; this whole situation felt wrong. She tried to push his hands away, but they stayed put. She writhed in his vice-like grip; he responded by nipping at her most sensitive spots. Much to her shame, a quiet sigh escaped from her lips. 

"You're more beautiful than your mother," he murmured. His fingers were deftly unlacing her dress and tearing at whatever he could not get loose. Sansa was sobbing now. She struggled in vain. Within minutes, her dress was a black pool around her ankles and her smallclothes clung to her slight frame in lacy shreds. Littlefinger was pushing down his trousers, exposing himself. 

"Lay on your back, on the table," he ordered. Sansa did as she was told, shakily lowering herself on the table. She let out a sharp gasp when she felt the cool wood against her skin. 

* * *

 

Sansa was panting, and her body trembled from her ordeal. Iridescent streaks of white seed stuck to her stomach. A dull ache throbbed between her legs. Tears in her eyes blurred her vision. She could faintly make out Littlefinger's dark form above her and feel his gaze. She blushed all over again, from her toes to her scalp. She did not revile the man for what he had done. She was confused, but she also felt a new form of ecstasy. The whole thing had felt so wrong but so  _good._

"That concludes our lesson, little one. Get dressed and go back to your chambers. There will be no more studies today." With another fleeting look, he turned and strode out of the library. 

Sansa stood up, holding the table to support her wobbly stance. She gathered up the remnants of her clothes and tried her best to cover up. She hurried back to her rooms to clean herself. She surveyed herself in the mirror before wiping off Petyr's liquid from her stomach. 

She smiled. She had found her new favorite subject to study. 

 


End file.
